


i’m not in this movie, i’m not in this song

by sicklikewinter



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Angsty things, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 07:41:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/607455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sicklikewinter/pseuds/sicklikewinter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>you're getting so <i>sick</i> of the new "pet".</p>
            </blockquote>





	i’m not in this movie, i’m not in this song

**Author's Note:**

> still don't know how to work these tags properly to make sure people aren't upset at me :(  
> i guess if things rub you the wrong way let me know oh man

Holding on to his hand tightly, you try to convey every single thought running through your mind at the moment. His breath catches in his throat at the fact your shades are pushed up on your forehead and tangling your hair into odd and awkward points, a halo of straw-colored blond. He watches, his blue eyes wide and fearful as you tighten and loosen your grip on his hand—like a kitten kneading the bed for a comfortable spot content written all over its face and in the way it purrs and purrs and purrs—and remain quiet.

(it feels like hes anticipating you hitting him like bro does! you would  _never_ do such things to him despite your desire to hit and kick and scream until he gets the point that  _you love him so fucking much_!)

Your own red eyes stare back at his blue ones, and his lips are parted—you can see the way his lips tremble as he breathed the longer you and he remain silent—slightly open and so soft and inviting and you want to kiss him. You really do. If you do that, however, you’re positive that he would freak out on you.

All your hard work would be for naught and you’d have to start all over again. You don’t want to start all over again, the nervous glances the nervous twitches the crying sobbing and tears he sheds when you enter a room or even  _breathe_  in his presence. He blinks, and you notice his eyelashes were so long and dark and so so beautiful you’re falling in love with him even more, and you sigh.

(you ignore the way it hurts to see him flinch at you and bite his lip hard)

“Why won’t you just open up dude. I really like you,” your mumble is nigh incomprehensible, and you hope John got what you were saying. You wanted to tell him you loved him, you’re doing it for him, you love him so much you don’t want to see him leave or lose him to Bro you don’t you don’t you don’t! But his eyes clench close at the sound of your voice and it hurts all over again.

“You don’t though Dave, you really don’t,” he replies, and your heart breaks all over. He looks like he wants to yank his hand away from you, and you drop it; his blue eyes wide and fright-filled. He expects you’re going to hit him now—Bro usually did when things didn’t go his way a petulant child not getting the things they wanted—but you’re not.

(you love him you understand that it’s hard he’s alone all alone alone alone and there’s just you and bro and you  _want him to understand_  he’s not alone!)

You realize that he’s looking at you with a mixture of fear and worry and it sends a pain down your spine and in your chest. He gives you one last look before slinking away from you, metaphorical tail between his legs as he heads to his little corner of the apartment—his haven he has where the piles of blankets are nice and clean and he’s got a cute little food bowl all his his his! and you’re losing him to bro you are you are  _you are_ —and you back up against the wall, ignoring the way a photo of you holding a dead pigeon in your hands digs into your back, and slide down it. 

The photo falls off the hook and shatters beside you (just like your heart). You glance to the side and stare at the picture of your just beginning poker face, a hint of a smile still on your lips, and the way the pigeon looked in your little hands. A happy memory for Bro, you’re positive of, but you only saw something to look at, an experiment something to stuff and preserve—the scent of formaldehyde and embalming fluid stings your nose as you recall—and you frown. 

You pull your knees close to your chest and sigh into your knees. You just want John to understand he’s  _not alone_ —you were you were you were the one all alone bro never looked at you anymore not with the new pet at the strider household it hurts you want him to be proud of you—and you’re here to take away his pain when Bro’s being insufferable.

(instead you’re growing more and more and more isolated the longer your ‘pet’ stays here and you’re getting sick sick  _sick_  of it)


End file.
